


meltwater

by leftishark



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 101 ways to describe cold, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cunnilingus, F/F, First Time, Genderswap, Getting Together, Ice Play, Kink Discovery, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 02, Smut, Temperature Play, Under-negotiated Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Virgin Keith (Voltron), but like really low key
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftishark/pseuds/leftishark
Summary: The ice is Shiro's idea.She left and returned holding a bag of ice wrapped in a towel that she pressed to Keith’s forehead, looking all serious and caring and muttering about ibuprofen.But the heat is not a fever and Keith’s head isn’t where she’s hottest and the muted chill is not enough to douse the fire simmering under her skin.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 134





	meltwater

**Author's Note:**

> this idea took over my brain... enjoy! 
> 
> thank you robin and sarah for your feedback and encouragement and others who cheered me on <3
> 
> [meltwater playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4fjeNXek1HFOKPa4ROgZ2T?si=XcL83lVpT_GSHmiDNvLdxg)

The ice is Shiro’s idea.

She’s trying to help. She _is_ helping: her mere presence is a comfort and a distraction from Keith’s otherwise lonely room. She’s determined, and that makes Keith believe that everything will be okay, because a determined Shiro never gives up. She frowned at Keith’s earlier assurances that she’s fine, that this has happened before, the feverish heat that comes and goes a few times a year without any other signs of illness.

Keith didn’t mention the weird horniness that coincides with these episodes. 

She has her suspicions of what’s going on. Even if the idea seems impossible, the newest piece of evidence is too compelling to ignore: the twisted symbol on the Galra rebel’s blade mirrors the one on her own knife. Then there’s the symptoms—the warmth, the restlessness, the heightened awareness between her legs—that match the description of a Galra phenomenon called heats recorded in the Castle archives. 

And it’s not just physical. The records mentioned that all kinds of feelings could intensify—fear, anger, joy, affection—and maybe that explains the aching want deep in Keith’s chest. It’s a vague longing most of the time, something she’s held silently for so long she’s forgotten what its absence feels like, but whenever these maybe-heats roll through the feeling twists and grows, an echo in her heart of what her body craves. 

Love. Devotion. A desire for Shiro to be happy, and a hope that she could be, with Keith.

Something about Shiro’s attention on her now gratifies that part of her. She’s tender without overbearing, practical. She left and returned holding a bag of ice wrapped in a towel that she pressed to Keith’s forehead, looking all serious and caring and muttering about ibuprofen.

But the heat is not a fever and Keith’s head isn’t where she’s hottest and the muted chill is not enough to douse the fire simmering under her skin. 

Keith huffs. She grabs the cold pack, unwraps the towel, and opens the bag. It’s made of a smooth watertight material, iridescent fibers catching the low light of the room. She plucks out a piece of ice, cold in her hand but not unbearable, warmed slightly from the room and her body.

“Let me,” Shiro offers, quiet but with natural authority in her voice that Keith is helpless to resist. Their hands touch when Shiro takes the ice.

Keith burns warmer.

After a moment’s thought, Keith figures _what the hell_ and strips her shirt off to give Shiro access to her bare skin. She’s not wearing anything underneath, dressed down for sleep after her shower even if sleeping is the last thing she expects to do. The thought of watching Shiro watch her like this—watching Shiro touch her—is too much, and Keith drops down to lay flat on her belly, face hidden in her arms.

The first touch of ice on her skin is a revelation. Shiro starts just between her shoulder blades, and the cold sparks pleasure through Keith’s whole body down to her toes. The initial shock fades to pulses of sensation, then builds again to biting chill piercing deep into her as Shiro starts to move the ice. She sweeps it up to the back of Keith’s neck, to the side where it meets her shoulder, and Keith can’t hold in a whimper. She hopes it sounds like relief and not arousal, when in reality it’s both. 

She didn’t know it would feel like this. She didn’t know anything could feel like this. 

Maybe, she muses with what remains of conscious thought, she feels this way because Shiro’s the one holding the ice—it doesn’t matter, anyway, because she wouldn’t want this with anyone else. And because it’s Shiro, Keith embraces the unknown, trusts herself and Shiro and them both together. She sinks willingly into an ocean of pleasure.

The ice slips over Keith’s skin, leaving cool trails of water behind and dripping down her sides as Shiro traces swirls down her back. The tinge of pain focuses her pleasure, heightened even more in anticipation of where that point of sensation will go next. She’s cooling off, she must be, but the excess warmth she sheds to the ice is nothing next to the heat she’s generating within. 

Eventually the ice reaches the waistband of her leggings at the base of her spine, where her back dips just before it reaches her ass. Keith shivers.

“Cold?” Shiro murmurs.

“Hot.”

Keith tries to hold herself still. She tries not to squeeze her legs or grind her hips like the instinctive thing inside her is calling for her to do. She’s pretty sure she’s getting wet—yeah, she feels the dampness on her underwear when she shifts ever so slightly. _Can Shiro see it?_ she wonders. _Can she smell it?_

“You’re tense,” Shiro observes. 

“Mm,” Keith mumbles into the mattress.

The point of cold stills and then disappears. Keith peers over her shoulder to see Shiro place the ice back in the bag, her expression thoughtful as she turns her attention to Keith’s body. She drags a finger through the pooled water at the small of her back. 

It’s… nice. Fuzzier, the friction of skin on skin. Not quite enough after the icy cold.

“Other hand,” Keith says.

Shiro complies.

She traces across Keith’s shoulders and back in slow sweeping loops. Her metal fingers are cold from handling the ice, but the sensation is gentler than before and all the more arousing with the knowledge that it’s _Shiro_ touching her, nothing between them. Soft tingles run through Keith’s spine like it’s a string to her cunt stretched just taut and vibrating with pleasure.

“That better?”

“Yeah.” The truth must be transparent in the way Keith’s voice goes breathy. 

“I just want you to feel good,” Shiro murmurs.

“I do,” Keith says, squirming. “I feel really— _really_ good—Shiro—” 

Keith twists to the side and up, unable to tamp down the need to move, to act, to chase this craving any longer. She braces her hands on Shiro’s shoulders to stop from slamming into her, staring desperately into her eyes. There’s dark fire in them, concern and curiosity and something more at the edges; the selfish part of Keith hopes it might be desire returned. Shiro, ever cushioning Keith’s fall, strokes her hands up Keith’s sides to cradle her face, the touch cool on her overheated skin.

“You’re burning,” Shiro says.

“Because of you.”

“Me?” The way Shiro’s mouth and eyebrows turn down is precious and _oh_ , Keith wants her. “I thought this has happened before.”

“Not like this,” Keith admits. “Never this strong. Never this good.”

Shiro’s face softens, and she runs her hand up over Keith’s forehead to push her bangs back, a gesture so tender Keith could cry. “So it’s good burning.”

“Really good,” Keith says, hoping Shiro will pick up what she means. “Because of you.”

“Oh!” Awe colors Shiro’s expression, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Wow. Me.”

“Yeah, you,” Keith repeats with a wild laugh. “Always you, Shiro.”

“And you,” Shiro returns. Her smile grows, overtaking her face. “You—Keith—”

Keith kisses her like she’s always wanted to, determined to show Shiro how much she loves her because saying it doesn’t feel like enough. The press of their lips together is like fresh fuel on smoldering embers, sending a soul-deep sense of _right yes good_ flooding through Keith’s chest and settling between her legs. She gasps against Shiro’s mouth and kisses her again, savoring the give and slide of lips yielding under her own until they part, opening to Keith. Keith fumbles, unpracticed for how much she’s longed for this, and Shiro surges in. She folds Keith into her strong arms as she guides the tilt of her head and the pull of her lips, licking into Keith’s mouth until she moans into Shiro’s. 

The heat surges back stronger than before, overwhelming now with a taste of what Keith wants. 

“Shiro,” Keith pants, pulling back even as she wants more, “I’m—I’m so hot—”

“Shh, baby,” Shiro soothes, pressing another kiss to Keith’s parted lips, her cheek, her forehead. “Let’s cool you down.” 

She tugs at the waistband of Keith’s leggings, and with sudden clarity of what’s to come, Keith shoves them off. Her underwear gets dragged down with them, and she spreads her legs to feel cool air on her cunt. Shiro is still fully clothed, long gray sleeves contoured to her arms and that vest showing off just how broad her shoulders are, and somehow that makes Keith feel even more naked and aroused, her lips still tingling with the echo of their kisses. 

Shiro spreads the towel from the ice pack out and lays Keith down on it. Keith doesn’t know what to do with her arms until Shiro moves them over her head, resting comfortably on the pillow and loosely crossed at the wrist. And that feels good, feels right to open herself to Shiro.

“Let me,” Shiro says, reaching for the bag of ice again. A command with a question behind it. Keith nods, wanting, wanting.

Shiro touches the ice down at Keith’s elbow this time, which Keith thinks with a surge of affection is probably out of some Shiro-y sense of honor, but the cold-pleasure-pain zings through her all the same. The exposed underside of her arm is unexpectedly sensitive as the ice travels down it, her armpit even more so, and Keith jerks, mouth falling open on a quiet whimper. Shiro circles one breast and then the other, swirling inward to her hard nipple as Keith squirms in anticipation, but Shiro moves down her belly instead, and that’s heady too, making Keith’s abs flex against the sharp cold.

It’s so good and getting better, jagged trails of pleasure weaving together, at once soothing and stoking the burning warmth inside her. Keith arches, her upper body rolling like a wave, and Shiro’s hand slips lower, lower, until the ice skims down the crease between Keith’s hip and thigh, getting closer and closer to the hot wet want pulsing in her—

Just at the crook of her groin, Shiro detours down the inside of Keith’s thigh. 

“Shiro…” Keith moans. 

“I’m cooling you down,” says Shiro. She looks at Keith innocently, but there’s a spark in her eyes like the one she gets before a clever joke or a daring maneuver only she can pull off, a dive off a cliff. Challenging, Keith realizes with another spike of heat. Teasing.

Shiro swirls the ice around her knee and to the back when Keith bends her leg, writhing, trying to hold onto reality with the press of her foot digging into the mattress, the tension in her muscles lifting her ass off the bed, the friction from the sheets as her foot slides back down. Shiro runs her other hand, so warm after the ice, along Keith’s leg and raises it back up to trace the ice all the way down to the bottom of her foot, making her yelp and twitch away from how sensitive her nerves are there, too much, too good. 

“Look at you,” Shiro whispers. Her gaze is heavy with how focused she is, the power she wields over Keith coiled in her eyes. Keith lies willingly at her mercy.

“Shiro, please,” she whines.

“What do you want?” 

“I—” Everything. Anything. Keith can’t come up with the words.

“Touch yourself,” Shiro says, soft and commanding.

Keith grabs her hair, then her breasts, the slight curve and cushion of them satisfying in her hands, the hard squeeze balancing the icy chill creeping up her other leg. 

“That’s it,” Shiro murmurs. “Just like that. Make yourself feel good.”

Keith does; she drags her hands over her breasts, her stomach, her face, gasping open-mouthed at the layers of sensation, the hot and cold, the contrast between controlling where her hands touch and being powerless to the sweet torture of the ice on her inner thigh. She winds one hand into her hair while the other reaches down, but Shiro catches her wrist and moves her hand gently aside before it can land where she wants it most. 

“Let me,” Shiro says, tangling their fingers together. Keith’s eyes catch hers and hold. 

When the ice touches her clit, Keith cries out. 

The harsh thrill is too much, not enough. Just a brush, a moment’s electric pleasure there and then gone, leaving her hungry for more. 

“Again,” Keith demands. 

Shiro strokes the ice over her clit and her folds in light, teasing touches. Keith whimpers every time, eyes rolling up to stare unseeing at the ceiling as pleasure bursts like sparks in her vision, her groin, the bottoms of her feet. She’s helpless to do anything but drown in sensation. Shiro caresses her hip with her other hand, pets her stomach and breasts, and even through the haze Keith can feel how large Shiro’s hand is on her, the weight and easy strength making her impossibly hotter, wetter. There’s a shock of cold on her nipple, making her cry louder, before the ice returns to her cunt, and then Shiro does it again, alternating between the two until Keith is so-close-not-quite-there. She twists and gasps, twitches her hips, pulls hard at her hair and tightens her grip on Shiro’s hand. 

“Shiro!” she wails.

“Keith,” Shiro says, low, almost a growl.

Suddenly the ice is gone and wet warmth and sweet, sweet friction greet Keith’s cunt, lapping at her clit, curling around her hole. With a violent cry, Keith wrenches her head up to look down between her legs. Shiro is buried in her cunt, eyes closed and looking blissed out, licking at Keith where only her own fingers have ventured before. Keith gapes, the sight nearly enough to undo her, until Shiro looks up at her through her bangs with her tongue on Keith’s clit and Keith comes open-mouthed and gasping, waves of hot pleasure rippling through her.

When Keith regains control of her limbs she runs her fingers through Shiro’s hair, stunned with the sudden realization that Shiro just made her come. She’s _having sex with Shiro._ The echo of her orgasm is still ringing through her and she’s soaked between her legs with the combination of her own slick and Shiro’s spit. 

Shiro hums, pleased, her mouth still on Keith’s cunt, and it stokes the fire anew. Of course, Keith thinks distantly, feeling the need rise in her again; when she’s like this, coming once isn’t enough to satisfy her, but leaves arousal running hot through her veins.

“Shiro,” she says, soft but urgent.

Shiro kisses her cunt once more, sending fresh sparks dancing up Keith’s spine and down to her toes. She feels even more sensitive than before, like the channels that carry pleasure from her cunt to her mind to her very soul have been cleared, illuminated, awakened. The heat is still there, strong and growing but no longer oppressive; it wraps around her like a blanket, like steam in the shower, diffuse and all-encompassing.

“Shiro, I’m still—” Keith tries, but then Shiro licks the slick spread around the crease of her thigh and Keith loses her words. She melts into Shiro’s tongue lapping around either side of her cunt, gushing more for Shiro to lick up. Fuck, it feels so _good_ , and Keith so warm, and she needs—she needs—“I need you.”

Shiro emerges, disheveled, strands of white hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks flushed pink, lips and nose shiny with Keith’s slick. Somehow she’s even more powerful and beautiful this way, leaning over Keith adorned with the evidence of what she’s done to her. “You have me,” she says, and the words strike deep into Keith’s helpless, loving heart.

The ice is familiar now, a welcome balm trailing back up Keith’s belly and chest. Shiro follows it with her tongue, exquisitely warm as she traces the same path. Keith sighs and arches into the dual sensation, and as Shiro approaches the base of her throat Keith drags her hands up Shiro’s strongly muscled back, embracing her, drawing her in.

Shiro kisses her then, slow and deep, laying claim to Keith’s mouth with every press of her lips and stroke of her tongue. She grips Keith’s hair, making her scalp prickle and her cunt throb with how Shiro controls the angle and speed and intensity of their kisses, and she swallows Keith’s moans like she’s parched for them. The taste of her own slick and sweat on Shiro’s tongue whets Keith’s needy desire, even more when she realizes that Shiro’s left it all over her, and when she breathes in she can smell Shiro, her sweat, her musk. Shiro surrounds her heavy and warm like the heat that urges her on and on—but it’s no longer her skin that feels overwarm. 

“Shiro,” she pleads on a breath before Shiro captures her mouth again. “In me.”

Shiro goans against Keith’s lips, the rumble shooting down to Keith’s eager cunt. She keeps kissing her as she reaches between them and strokes her cold metal fingers around Keith’s folds, circling her clit like she did with the ice but now there’s no sharp edge of pain, only mounting pleasure before she reaches further down and in.

No sound leaves Keith when Shiro enters her, only a breath as she melts from the blissful satisfaction of touch and fullness and thrilling cold inside her. Shiro kisses along her jaw and neck as her finger caresses along the walls of Keith’s hot, slick cunt, moving gently but firmly, and Keith has never known herself to be sensitive in there but the cold or maybe the fact that the hand is not her own, is Shiro’s, feels so good that Keith never wants it to end.

She grabs Shiro’s hand to still her, overwhelmed. “Stay,” she breathes. “Like that. I just want to feel you.” 

Shiro hums against her collarbones. The huff of her breath tickles Keith’s skin, and Keith twitches, desperate for more stimulation while keeping that fullness steady inside her. Even unmoving, Shiro’s hand is undeniably big and powerful; the more Keith thinks about it, about what those hands can do to her, the hotter she gets, tightening around the cold filling her hole. She grips Shiro’s back, drags her fingers through the bristle of her undercut. Keeping her hand in place, Shiro rubs her thumb lightly over Keith’s clit, then more firmly when Keith’s breath hitches, sending wave after wave of devastating pleasure washing over her. “How about this?” 

“Don’t stop,” Keith gasps, and Shiro doesn’t; she keeps going, keeps Keith at the razor’s edge of too much not enough just right. She circles her clit and mouths at her chest, her body large and strong over Keith’s, their sounds blending into a symphony of breaths and murmurs and moans. She wrings pleasure from Keith’s body until everything—the escalation of hot and cold, the sensation teased over every part of her, Shiro above her, around her, inside her—crashes through her, and Keith clenches in pulses around Shiro. She comes wet and messy and long, pleasure burning through her in one last roar of heat before it dissipates into soft swells of warmth.

She’s lost in it. She knows nothing but a euphoric haze, the rightness of a deep instinct satisfied. 

Then, faintly, Shiro. Shiro _Shiro Shiro I want her I have her she has me..._

Keith blinks blearily up at Shiro. She’s still lying on top of her, gazing down at Keith with a mix of wonder and concern.

“You there, Keith?”

Keith nods. She’s not hot anymore, just pleasantly warm and sated down to her bones. 

“You wouldn’t let me go,” Shiro says, and Keith realizes her arms are still wrapped tightly around Shiro’s middle. Shiro shakes her head with a huff of breath and a small crooked smile. “You’re really strong.”

“Mmm…” Keith gives one last squeeze and releases Shiro from her hold to stretch languidly, cat-like, letting the residual energy out of her limbs. She’s damp from sweat and melted ice and other bodily fluids that she wears proudly on her skin, a physical reminder of what they just did. 

Shiro rolls off to the side and takes off her pants. Keith stares. In the time they’ve known each other, she’s never seen Shiro like this, flushed and quietly pleased, naked from the waist down save for her boxer briefs. Her bare thighs are scarred and thickly muscled, visibly powerful, and as exhausted as she is Keith wants to feel them under her hands. Her eyes follow the curve of her thighs and hips up to Shiro’s crotch, landing on a damp patch darkening the fabric. Shiro notices her gaze.

“I, ah,” she says, “took care of myself.”

She wiggles her fingers, looking a little sheepish and really fucking cute, and Keith is struck with the realization that those fingers were _in Shiro_. Before she can think twice, she grabs Shiro’s wrist and brings her hand up to see the evidence for herself. Shiro’s fingers are still wet, and this close Keith can smell the heady musk of her slick. She presses Shiro’s hand to her nose, inhaling deeply to draw the scent into her lungs, to fill her breath with it. Shiro lets out a choked sound when she darts her tongue out to taste, and when she looks back at her, Shiro’s mouth is dropped open in a little round _o_. 

“Let me, next time,” Keith insists. She tugs Shiro down to lie next to her, turning to her side so they’re facing each other. 

Behind Shiro, the bag of melting ice sits innocently in a pool of condensation on the bedside table. What brilliant ideas she has. Keith is so in love.

“Next time, huh?” Shiro says, smiling softly. There’s relief in her eyes. 

“I told you, Shiro.” Keith smoothes out the uncertainty with her thumb across Shiro’s forehead. “Always. Forever.”

Shiro looks almost shy as she glances down before meeting Keith’s eyes. “That’s a long time.” 

Keith nods, tracing down Shiro’s cheek and over the scar on her nose until she brushes her lips. “As long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever, then,” Shiro agrees, and Keith glows warm and happy as she draws her in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> shiro was totally writing “love” in loopy script with the ice 
> 
> thank you so much for reading <3 kudos and comments are a gift! twitter [@leftishark_](https://www.twitter.com/leftishark_)


End file.
